


Pride & Folly

by Tsyele



Series: Journey of the Inquisition [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dark Solas, F/M, POV Lavellan, POV Solas, The Fade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:22:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsyele/pseuds/Tsyele
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Wisdom gone, Solas finds that its absence has him making unwise and irreversible decisions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maizzy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maizzy/gifts).



> Thank you for your patience, dear readers. I hope this little fic is enough to make up for my prolonged absence.
> 
> Dedicated to the lovely [Maizzy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maizzy/pseuds/Maizzy), because she was the kick in my butt that compelled me to write this.

Four sets of legs splashed along the current of Halin’sulahn. Cassandra grunted the most, bogged down by the sludge and heavy from the arms, armor, and water that encumbered her movements. Solas led the way this time, silent and focused ever since the group arrived at the Exalted Plains. Though he’d made no protest, Lavellan could see he wasn’t too pleased to take so many on their quest to rescue his spirit friend. She knew him averse to be a burden on others, but she was wary of what they might find, and, as they made preparations to search for Wisdom, it seemed like the wisest course.

As Cole helped the Seeker out through the tributary, Neris hurried her pace to meet with the other elf.

“Thank you for this, Inquisitor,” she heard Solas say, so very formally, as the soles of her feet squished the mossy rocks of the river bank. The leather and cloth of her armor was soaked and reeking from trudging through the Dirthavaren, its land, water, and air corrupted by the smoke and death of battle. “We are not far from where my friend was summoned.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Lavellan said. Solas had helped her so much since the beginning — he’d kept her from dying, showed her how to use the mark, taught her the secrets and lore of their ancestors, had her back in countless fights, became her friend, even given her the most amazing kiss that Neris could ever dream of — really, helping him out with his spirit friend was the bare minimum she could do, given how much he did for the Inquisition, and how little she and the Inquisition did for Solas.

“Everything here is blurry. It wants to forget, but now the rocks are solid,” Cole mumbled to the wind — a whisper, barely there — and she wondered sometimes if anyone else could hear the boy at all.

As they climbed the rocky face, Lavellan could smell the distinct scent of sulfur, clinging acrid and nauseating to the walls of her nose. The air brimmed with electricity, crackling and snapping like a whip, tickling her skin until all the hairs in her body stood in attention.

A ball of worry formed in the pit of her stomach, and though she didn’t want to say anything, she feared her movements and expression would speak for her. Uneasiness tinged the air, and she felt the rest of the party tense up.

They spotted several tall rocks, like pillars, and despite the weight of their damp clothes, Solas sprang into a sprint, and she followed instantly after him. A bit forward, the first sight of the thorny silhouette that appeared made her gut sink, and she heard the other elf gasp in horror.

“My friend,” he trailed off. Lavellan, too, stopped in her tracks once she saw it. In front of them was a huge monster, deformed and twisted and terrifying. Even though it hunched, shackled by some manner of binding, it towered over her. With huge clawed hands and scaly purplish skin, the horned figure ahead was unmistakably a demon, not the kindly wisdom spirit Solas said it was.

Surrounding it, she noticed the stone pillars were not a coincidence: they were, in fact, charged with magical energy, and arranged in a specific pattern — the markings of a summoning circle. Many a Dalish Keeper had had need to do so, and, as a First, Neris was no stranger to such a sight. What she did not understand was why the supposed benevolent and peaceful spirit so corrupted.

“Your friend… The mages… they turned it into a demon.”

“Yes.”

“You said it was a spirit of wisdom. How could it change to this?”

“A spirit becomes a demon when denied its original purpose.”

“So— what? They forced it against its nature so that it became corrupted? What would do that?”

The rustling of a nearby bush made them both snap their heads to the sound, on edge as they were. An unassuming human came into their view, and Lavellan could feel the faint undulation of mana coming from him — a mage. A couple more appeared behind him. They had to be involved in this, and Solas must’ve thought the same.

“Let us ask them,” he said.

“Mages! You’re not with the bandits?” And with that small question the _shem_ had already answered hers. “Do you have any lyrium potions? We’re exhausted from fighting that demon...”

“You summoned that demon! Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time,” Solas growled, startling Neris by the ferocity undertoning his voice. “You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose.”

“I… I… I understand how it might be confusing for someone who isn’t hasn’t been educated in demonology, but after you help us, we can... ”

“We’re not here to help _you_ ,” the older elf replied coldly.

It took all her effort not to take her palm to her face, and were it not such a serious situation, Lavellan might’ve laughed for the mere thought of a Circle mage implying anyone, especially Solas, could not be knowledgeable about demons and spirits due to lack of academic background.

“If I were you, _shem,_ I wouldn’t presume to lecture on how demons work to my friend here.”

“Listen to me! I’m— was — one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle—”

“Shut. Up,” Solas cut him off as she snorted.

“One would think someone hailing from Kirkwall would know better than to deliberately unleash a demon.”

“And I did not! Do you think me mad?”

“I think you stupid. That’s far worse.” The mage’s mouth gaped at Solas’s words. Human egos were always so easily bruised. “You summoned it to protect you from the bandits.”

“I—” The man paused, finger upright in objection, before the whole of his body slumped. “Yes.”

“You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill. _That_ is when it turned.” The elf stopped for a moment to think. “The summoning circle. We break it, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature, no demon.”

“What?! But the summoning circle is the only thing keeping the demon at bay! Whatever it was before, it’s a monster now!”

“ _Lethallan_. _Please_.” Solas had turned to Neris, almost begging, and she found herself unable to do anything but acquiesce.

“The Dalish have rituals similar to this. I know how to disrupt the bindings.”

“Thank you.” She could hear the hope in his voice, and found it made her even more nervous than the roar coming from the demon. “We must hurry!”

It’d been years since she saw a binding circle such as this, when she was just an apprentice to Deshanna: it was inactive, and she’d done nothing but study the markings. And now Solas, of all people, needed her help to free his dearest friend. Lavellan swallowed her nervousness away, awfully aware of the consequences should she fail.

As she reached for her staff, tapping it lightly with her fingertips, a blanket of comfort fell down on her, and she felt the familiar protective magic involving her. She looked back at the other elf, and saw the smallest of smiles on Solas’s lips — the kind that, somehow, always assured her that everything would be all right. Lavellan’s eyes then shifted between the demon and the bindings, and her brow furrowed in concentration. She would not fail.

Neris, Solas, and the rest of their group assumed their positions — Cole ready to help with the spirit, Cassandra ready should anything go awry. Taking a deep breath, she called upon her mana, and in her palm swelled a ball of searing hot energy. The Anchor flashed green, and the Veil gave in her demands for more.

“Get ready,” she heard the other elf shout, just as the pressure called for release.

The pillar shattered with the force of the blast of fire, scattering hundreds of little pieces in every direction. Grass lit aflame as the melted, bright orange rocks rolled until they blackened.

A deafening roar announced the breaking of the binding spell, and once free, the demon bared its teeth and claws, and sprang towards Neris. Cassandra jumped, shield up, and knocked her aside to take the blow. Sharp talons met veridium, sparking and screeching as they etched their marks onto the Seeker’s shield. The cacophony of ungodly noises rang in Lavellan’s ears, sending a shiver through her spine as the young elf labored to get up.

The warrior dodged another strike, and took the opening the demon left as it staggered to run her sword through its underarm. The ground shook with its scream.

“Do not harm it! Focus on the pillars,” she heard amidst the grunts and clanking of metal.

While Solas shattered a pillar after a series of attacks with fists made of pure magic, the demon’s massive paw came crashing down on them. Both Neris and Cassandra leaped out of its way, the impact ousting what little breath Lavellan had in her lungs. As the claws rained down again, she scrambled forward, frantically gripping patches of grass until she reached her knocked down staff. From the left she saw Cole running to assist them, after dealing with a smaller pillar of his own.

The Seeker rolled onto her chest and stood up in a jump. “It wants to kill us!”

She grunted as she banged her sword against her shield, the loud thump drawing the demon’s attention away from the elf. It turned to her, baring its fangs in an eerie grin, and an it laughed, terrifying and unnatural.

“No,” Cole said, pointing at the monstrous creature, “it wants to feed.”

Its awful laughter boomed once more, shaking the very ground like a quake.

“Such confidence, such faith. My, Seeker, you truly believe you can defeat me!”

“When my sword cut through you, it became slick with blood. Whether red or black, you bleed, and as such, you will die.”

“Do not listen to it!” Solas shouted from across the field.

“Cassandra, stop! We must keep it alive.”

The warrior turned towards the elves, unsure of what they'd asked. It wasn't a situation Neris wanted particularly to have inflicted on her. She hadn't consider this possibility, that Solas's friend could be reversed in its corruption. Cassandra was there if the worse had come to pass and Wisdom could not be saved. A demon was a demon, after all, and this one knew it well. In this moment's hesitation, it turned to the human woman once more.

“Ah, but do you believe it in your heart it is the right thing to do, Seeker? Do you have faith in these apostates, or in the teachings of the Maker and your training?”

“I…”

“Don’t do anything it says,” Lavellan urged the warrior. Static filled the air, and her hairs raised once more.

“Should you really believe anything they say? They rejected order, they consort with spirits, they even brought one in your midst even though you never approved. You know it in your heart you never really trusted them, but do you have faith in yourself?”

“Y—yes.”

“Then show me,” the demon smiled, and in the split second Cassandra roared a battle cry and charged against it, Neris saw the spell it had been casting. A massive ball of electricity clashed against the Seeker, engulfing her in a seizure amplified by the metal of her arms and armor.

“No!” Cole cried. “You hurt her!”

Solas ran to her, panting. Even though he’d casted a protective barrier just before the demon’s strike, it couldn’t absorb all of the damage, and Cassandra fell to the ground, twitching in pain.

“I’ll help her. Go, you must break the other bindings.”

At his command, Lavellan sprang away, glancing at the Seeker behind, feeling guilty for her inability to protect her. Cole sank his daggers into the demon’s calves, drawing it away from the fallen warrior, and it shrieked from the blow. Neris nearly toppled in her sprint as it smashed its closed fists into the ground, missing the spirit for just a few centimeters.

“You can’t hurt me,” he said, distracting the demon as Solas kneeled next to Cassandra and tipped a healing potion against her lips. Lavellan summoned once again her power, willing both ground and air to explode, the force off the blast destroying another pillar.

“But you are hurting _me_ , Compassion. How can you do such a thing?”

“You hurt us first. You want to feed on us. I can’t let you do that.”

“Do not let it turn you, Cole,” the older elf said hurriedly as he started his healing spell.

“You forget. I was hurt first. Bound and shackled in this prison. You do remember the prison, don’t you spirit? Don’t you remember how it hurt?”

“Cole was innocent. He didn’t hurt anyone.”

“So was I. Before they made me into this. And now that I have my chance to break free, _you_ hurt me. Tell me, how is this Compassion?”

“You… are right. I’m sorry.”

“Cole, the demon is twisting the facts to turn you its side. You must resist it! Look deeper into the hurt. Look for Wisdom.”

He shut his eyes in concentration. “Death and doubt, the world becomes dark when wisdom’s blinded by pride. It hurts inside. It wants to be free, but not in the way it speaks. We must help the hurt inside.”

The demon roared in anger, and swing its paw against Cole, but the spirit boy vanished before it reached him. As Neris headed towards the pillar closest to the Enavuris river, he appeared by her side to help. The demon turned to Solas as he helped a groggy Cassandra up.

“You! You know what’s best for everything, don’t you?”

“I will not play your games. You are not yourself, _lethallin_.”

“ _Lethallin_. Your definition of it is curious indeed. Tell me, Rebel, how many of your kin will you betray until that word no longer means anything to you?”

“You will not bait me.”

“We’ll see about that…” The monster smiled. It stalked across the field to where Lavellan prepared to destroy the second-to-last binding mark, each step trembling the earth, and, as it neared, its massive shadow drowned the small elf’s frame in its darkness. “So you are the pride of the _Elvhen_.”

“There’s nothing you can say to me that will stop me,” she spat, turning to the stone pillar, but the demon cut her off.

“Such fire! Look how much you’ve achieved. You do your people proud.”

“Stop it!” Solas shouted from behind.

To her far right, a pillar fell down as Cole helped Cassandra bashing it with her veridium shield.

“Their pride in me is not why I do this.”

“No, of course not. _Your_ pride in the People is what drives you. One of your gods has touched you. Your ancestors’ magic was real. Your beliefs are true.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere. I just wonder if any of your gods will save you. Will you be proud then, when they watch and let you die?”

She furrowed her brow in confusion and it was the opening it needed. Without pause the demon swatted Neris, the blow drawing out the breath from her lungs. She landed with a loud thud on dirt and jagged pebbles of the river bank. Her staff rolled away from her and near the stone pillar. She only got a fraction of a moment to breathe before two clawed hands came raining down on her, one after the other after the other, several blows in quick succession. Lavellan barely had time to roll to the sides, the dirt choking her each attack she evaded.

Tears welled in her eyes as the raising dust began to blind her. Unable to see, the elf rolled a moment too late, and the demon’s sharp talon ripped through her robes and slashed her side.

She cried out in pain as her crimson blood seeped between the sand and grass and pebbles, a thin trail painting the ground beside her in lines of red...

Exhausted, Neris simply closed her eyes to prepare the blow to come. In three heartbeats of hers, her body tensed, then relaxed as she heard the hot exhaled breath of the demon as it swung its clawed arm down. She felt the displacement in the air, the gas hitting her before she noticed the descent in temperature and the sound of ice cracking. Solas had called upon the forces of Winter and frozen the demon just as it began its attack. The pause broke her from her apathy, and almost without thinking, Lavellan grabbed her staff and summoned the rest of her mana in one last spell, and with a hit of a searing ball of flames, the last standing pillar crumbled, and she felt the binding glyph vanish.

The monster cried out in pain and the ice fractured and fell to the ground as it rejected the demon’s metamorphosis. Its body became alight, and shone an ethereal green, utterly otherworldly. The brightness turned more intense as its form turned smaller and its horns and claws and unnatural eyes shifted into the form of a woman, bent-over and small.

Solas ran towards them, throwing his staff to the ground before kneeling before the spirit.

 _“Lethallin. Ir abelas.” Kin. Sorry._ The words were familiar, distinctly elven, but the inflection… it made them difficult to make out.

Lavellan winced and clutched at her exposed cut, the sudden movement to stand up proving too strenuous for her torn muscles and skin. Her hand became warm and slick with thick red blood.

 _“Tel’abelas. Enasal. Ir tel’him_ ,” the spirit said, and though wounded and in pain, Neris felt both pulled in by the melodic sound of her ancestors’ language and alienated by the strange idiom. She’d only heard it once before, in the Fade, when the Nightmare spoke to… Solas. But he never spoke it to her.

Though they had distincts dialects, no Dalish pronounced elven as such, not even the clans roaming the farthest reaches of Thedas. Was this one particular to the denizens of the Beyond?

 _“Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din’an_ ,” the spirit continued. _Help. Endure. Guide my death._ They were too late.

Solas averted his eyes, and though his back was turned to her, Lavellan could sense his pain, and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. Maybe if she’d come sooner. If she’d undone the binding faster. Or maybe if she hadn’t brought anyone else. Perhaps Wisdom could’ve survived.

_“Ma nuvenin.”_

He reached out to it, slowly, with his hands outstretched, and the air turned light and rarefied. Her gut churned when she felt the Veil thinning — like she always did every time she used the Anchor — and the mark on her hand flared. Then, the spirit started to vanish into ash, its hold onto to this world crumbling, and it passed on to the other side. The Veil closed again. Wisdom was gone.

_“Dareth shiral.”_

_“Falon’Din lasa ma ghilan_ ,” Neris whispered, as she used to do during funeral rites of her kin, invoking her patron god to grant guidance to the departed. Solas let his head hang. “I couldn’t understand everything, but you did the right thing. You did help it,” she said, hoping to could impart whatever comfort she had to offer him.

“Now I must endure.”

“You I’m here for you. Whatever I can do to help…”

The older elf got up, slowly, with a sad smile upon his face. “You already have.” His hand reached out to her own, movements slow and hesitant, until his fingers stroked the tips of her bloody ones. Lavellan could still feel the last remnants of his spell, echoes of the magic invoked but not spent. As he slipped his hand through her body to her wound, his touch carried an electric current, travelling from her arm to her head and stomach, leaving her light and ticklish and just the littlest bit giddy.

She felt the Veil bend faintly for the passage of mana, and her skin tingled from the gentle healing spell, or the light pressure of Solas's fingertips. Their eyes met briefly before his turned to look behind her, and his expression steeled. In an instant he retrieved his hand back. The feeling was gone.

“All that remains now is them.”

The young elf turned around. The humans mages approached in irregular steps, unsure of what had happened.

“Thank you. We would not have risked a summoning were the roads not so dangerous to travel unprotected,” the “demon expert” said, obviously uneasy.

“You tortured and killed my friend!” The anger in Solas’s voice reverberated across the air, so intense she could feel it in her bones. Brow furrowed and nostrils flaring with barely contained rage, the apostate stalked over to where the Circle mages stood nervous.

“We didn’t know, it was just a spirit. The book said it could help us,” said the head of the group, but no words he could say would ever assuage the pain and anger that Solas carried heavily with each step he neared towards them.

And it was then that Neris felt the stirring of mana being called forth. Despite the fatigue settled onto all of them, she felt the air around Solas heating up, and she saw the first tendrils of magical fire licking his fingers. By sheer force of will — and anger is indeed a powerful motivator — he summoned the last shreds of energy he had, and she just _knew_ he was going to kill the _shems_.

Without thinking, she lunged forward to him, her recently stitched muscles protesting the rash movement, and casted the measliest dispelling enchantment in the hand that grabbed the older elf’s wrist. Although weak, it was enough to make him lose focus and snuff the flames out.

“Solas…” she started, not quite knowing what to say.

It was not until Lavellan looked into his eyes that she realized the depths of the anger that coursed through his body, the muscles of his face twitching almost imperceptibly, betraying just how close the usually calm man in front of her was to losing control.

He yanked his arm from her grip, never once breaking eye contact. If the surrounding atmosphere was once choking hot, it was not anymore. She could swear she felt the temperature dip to freezing.

“Never again,” Solas said with such coldness and authority that no one could find themselves indifferent, and Neris didn’t imagine the icy glare Solas gave her just as he started. The threat was not just for the _shem_ mages, she knew. And the irrational fear that settled in her bones and raised all the hairs on her skin was not unlike what she felt in the Fade.

The others ran as fast as they could, but Lavellan was frozen in place. Was she really terrified of her _lethallin_?

“I need some time alone. I will meet you back at Skyhold,” the elf said as soon as the humans were gone, never once looking back at her.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, but inspiration strikes when it strikes...
> 
> Warning for character death, violence and blood/gore.

He didn’t know exactly just how long or how far he’d been walking. He wasn’t in a state of mind for rational thinking, and since Solas left on his own he had simply wandered aimlessly through the Dirthavaren for hours.

When he started his grief it was early afternoon, now the last of the sun’s light tinted the sky and clouds in hues of orange and pink, and he resented the beauty he would otherwise feel compelled to paint. It had been Wisdom who encouraged him to take on the canvas and brush, not for the prestige and admiration his talent could bring him, but for the simple pleasure of capturing the beauty of a world worth preserving, for the sake of recording a moment in life that could last for ages.

Now Wisdom was gone.

The spirit that might take its place would not remember any of the moments they’d shared, no matter how many he’d recorded.

The thought of his sketchbook weighing in his pack crept through his mind, and the elf was overcome with a sudden urge to dispose of it. Muscles tense and frowning, in his haste he struggled to unfasten the buckle of the leather flap, taking far too much time for his liking. Cold glass vials clinked inside with the rummaging, disturbed from their careful placement between the soft fabric of a scarf. His hand snaked around, searching for the right texture until his fingers finally reached the hard, leather-bound cover. He yanked the book out, hurling it to the side. It landed face-down with its pages opened on a patch of mud, just shy of the water of the small stream he’d been following for the past… half-hour?

He saw it sink slightly, the paper succumbing to the wetness, and Solas pictured the matte cream-colored pages, the fine texture — perfect for the flow of charcoal — blotched in dirt brown and wizened by the moisture. It was Neris who gave it to him as an apology and replacement for the one she accidentally burned. They were still in Haven then.

She lingered in his thoughts. How awful that his last memory of her were her amber eyes, opened wide and scared, just as they had been when first they met in the Fade. She was afraid of Solas now just as she had been afraid of Fen’Harel then. It was not an image he wanted to prolong or record — he even left without turning to see her again — but it was painted into his mind much more vividly than any fresco.

He shook his head. _I don’t care,_ he lied.

Solas abandoned his sketchbook and the trail of the stream and stepped into the thicker woods, gathering whatever dry wood he could for his camp fire. The twilight was slowly giving way to the dark of night, and he was so very tired. Farther in, he found a small clearing and set his belongings down, stretching his limbs and tilting his head both sides to crack the joints of his neck. After his practiced routine of a wanderer hermit, perfected during a time from before the Inquisition, the mage lied on his backpack and soft bedroll, and summoned a small ball of light, only bright enough so that he could see a couple of tree rows farther in. It was not as if he could do any more powerful magic than that; one must actually rest to properly recover his mana. He closed his eyes, and proceeded to assess the damage of the day: his head throbbed with each beat of his heart, both from lack of food and tears — conjured but not shed — his feet hurt from overuse and careless steps, his legs ached and burned from the distance traveled without pause, and his entire body felt sluggish from the fatigue of the afternoon’s events.

After a moment to breathe and rest, Solas arranged the pieces of wood he collected for his camp and took his flint from one of the pockets of his backpack, lighting the fire in one steady strike. He ate a small piece of bread he’d kept from his lunch, assuaging just barely his growling stomach. When he looked for a little more to eat, the faint song of lyrium drew his attention to one of the glass flasks. The elf picked it up and frowned, conflicted, at the potion. _Soon,_ he thought, and with a slight turn he plucked the glass stopper and swiftly downed the the blue liquid.

The calm, ethereal song muted as Solas felt his mana reinvigorated. He was still in an unfortunate situation, but he’d have to make do. He always did.

He knelt on the floor and crawled toward the edge of the clearing. Next to the tree roots he started on the sigils of the protective wards. His hand was alight with magic, drawing the symbols in a practiced flow. When the round was complete, Solas activated the wards, glowing bright to then disappear. Like always — or rather since the third or fourth time after waking from his _uthenera_ (he preferred to forget the first two nights he tried to sleep) — he finished by throwing a small pebble over the edge of his protective circle. It bounced back with a small “zap!” and his lips curled into a slight smile at well-oiled routine that had served him years.

From a pouch he took a pinch of herbs that dreamers had been using since the days of Elvhenan. Solas threw them to the fire, igniting it with the new fuel. The fragrant smoke rose from the comforting flames, and he inhaled it deeply. The scent of burnt flowers and leaves filled his nose, and soon he could feel himself relax as he leaned back onto his bedroll and pack.

The old elf let himself lay there, until sleep pressed heavily onto his eyelids and darkness overcame him, beckoning him to cross to the other side of the Veil.

In the Fade, Solas could usually find his home, but this night the weight pressing down on his chest would not lift as he breathed fog-laden air of the dream realm, and instead added to it the ten-ton emptiness of grief. He stepped onward, each square meter shifting to accommodate his thoughts. He walked ahead, slower than he used to, through a path he knew so well, today muted in color and lacking in the vibrant green vegetation and red and yellow blossoms. Little wisps followed him, frantically trying to shape the Fade into the place that existed in the elf’s mind, and before his foot fell upon the chasm that lead to the unknown depths of the Beyond, the tiny spirits constructed the ground that bore the step that landed past the previous reaches of the dream island.

All around him began to form the known route, not as welcoming to him as it used to be. Still, Solas could feel the echoes of Wisdom’s presence. He reached the small islet — the little part of the Fade that had once belonged to his friend — leaving behind a bridge between these realms, both alien and familiar. He’d made this journey countless times, since before recorded time itself. The cave’s entrance stood unchanged, such were the extent of the memories that had been forged here, but the atmosphere just wasn’t the same without Wisdom’s recollections — wisps can only gather so much from a dreamer’s thoughts. A torch came to life as he passed, the aura of the flames not warm but soothing on his cheeks. Spirits always favored the sensations of the mind over those of the body.

His breath stilled as he crossed through the dim cavern, not quite sure anymore why’d he even come here.

It was deserted. The lake was still as death itself, for the cascades no longer poured into it; flowers and leaves hanged downcast, closed and withered; the unmoving sky was greyed out by clouds. Solas’s sadness permeated every aspect of the memory, and the dream was lifeless to reflect his mourning.

Slowly heading in between the hart statues, Solas walked to the lake’s bank and sat on his feet, knees diving into the pebbles that bit and marked his skin even through his pants. If he so wanted, he could make the pain stop — after all, the Fade was his realm. But in his apathy he wanted to feel something, anything else but grief. And the physical pain would do perfectly.

Solas closed his eyes and meditated. Perhaps, if he cleared his mind, he could quell the sorrow that tainted his memories of Wisdom and its former domain — if not for his sake then for the sake of his friend’s successor.

Immobile and quiet he sat in that clearing, a mirror to the one on the way to Skyhold, until his calm surpassed his sorrow. How long it took he could not say, for the Fade is not a place measured by time, but by emotions. Finally at a peace of mind, he released the breath he held in.

“My friend?” he called out in the old tongue, as hesitantly as he’d opened his eyes. A sigh released from his lungs when no answer was forthcoming. It was an exercise in faith, but, as a man of reason, he should’ve known the only point in it would be in disappointment.

When the echo of his question fainted into silence, Solas let the tears roll down his cheeks. He left Wisdom’s place, still and lifeless, alone, and wandered through the ever-changing paths of the Beyond. He’d not known a solitude like this one since the first centuries of his _uthenera,_ when the Veil was this unknown thing, a fog in the mirror of the physical world that was the Fade. The first centuries the spirits, creatures so reactionary to change, had to learn to adapt without corrupting.

For the longest while the only sound that could be heard was his own breathing. He passed through a fallen tree where two lively wisps dwelled. Then a makeshift grave, haunted by a demon of despair. And then a little waterfall, claimed by a rare spirit of love. As the elf walked aimlessly through the dream realm, he felt the distinct energy of dreamers. Aware dreamers. _Mages._ Could it be Neris? It was just wishful thinking, for he knew it was not. Neris’s presence was unique in which she could invoke the magic of ancient Elvhenan. The magic she emanated from the Anchor drew Solas to her like a magnet, like… home. This magic was simply a crude, common thing.

He stalked around to get a closer look at them, concealing himself by casting imperceptible changes to the Fade’s atmosphere. The familiarity of these mages’ energy irked him, and he could see from the corner of his eye the bright and hot form of a rage demon following him from the distance. That’s when he realized who they were.

Sometimes the denizens of the Fade knew his emotions better than himself.

Solas had stumbled upon the Kirkwall mages who’d enslaved Wisdom. It was as if fate had finally conceded a simple wish to him, or maybe revenge had a sense of direction.

They were still half-aware of their dreaming state, and completely oblivious that he, Fen’Harel, _the Bringer of Nightmares_ , had found them. Not that he expected them to have the littlest bit of knowledge of _Elvhen_ lore.

Centering himself with a deep breath, by his will the Fade began to move, slowly encroaching them all in one place, as would an ambushing party steering its prey into a trap might do. Their islets were not that far apart, and his power was far much greater here than in the physical world. There would still be some left for a little bit more play, and then for his other form.

As Solas willed the land beneath him to rise in a platform overlooking the collective dream of the mages, the skin on the elf’s face wrinkled in anger — anger at the justice that was denied his friend (by Lavellan, no less, who called herself his kin!) — but when he saw the fools, confused subconsciously to see each other in their dreams, his lips curled into a wicked smile. In this realm he was a god, and righteous vengeance is never denied to one such as him.

With a flick of his hand he grounded the consciousness of the mages to the dream, never to leave without his say-so.

“I believe you all recall me,” Solas said, fighting the urge to laugh as the humans looked all around, disoriented.

“What’s happened?” one of them asked, finding purchase on a table. Solas considered making the table disappear altogether, but it would be too petty so soon and in their state; instead, he moved it slightly to the side, and watched with satisfaction as the mage fumbled to hold on to one of its legs.

“You’re in the Fade.” _Blunt_.

“I—I haven’t been awake in the Fade since… since my Harrowing!”

“Dear Maker, how’s this possible?”

“No, I don’t like it here, I don’t like it here. I want to leav—”

“Silence!” the elf shouted. “None of you will leave. You tortured and enslaved my friend. For that crime, you will answer.”

“We never did any such thi— Wait. You’re that elf, aren’t you? You were with that other elf and a woman. You saved us from the demon.”

“No. I saved my friend from you,” Solas said coldly. They did not even care who Neris, soon to be the most powerful and influential woman of Thedas, was; how could they care that Wisdom was his _lethallin?_

“Look, we’re… grateful that you helped us and we’re sorry that you were affected by the demon, b-but we were just trying to stay alive—”

Hands fisted and shaking, piece by piece, the dream was stripped of its furnishings. Solas emptied their surroundings effortlessly, with a flick here and a jerk there. “By taking an innocent spirit and forcing it to go against its nature?” he said, and the mages fumbled backwards as they lost their purchase to the tables and chairs and bookcases that disappeared. One of them fell to the ground, and crawled away in fear, all the while Solas descended the stairs that built themselves with each step forward and a loud hissing could be heard in the background. The Fade shook with his words, and a coldless chill permeated the atmosphere. “By unmaking it so much that you caused its death?” he said, almost shouting if his voice hadn’t lowered in pitch with his icy rage.

“It-it’s n-not like it was a-a person!” one of the mages said tentatively.

“A _person_?”

Never had Solas resented Neris more. Had she not stopped him, he wouldn’t have to listen to these fools again. His wrist, where she had grabbed him, burned hot from the thought it.

“Yes, like us, uh… you and us.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. These… humans were beyond reason, beyond chances. But Solas conceded one thing: “No, not like you. Wisdom was so, so much better than any of you.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in, pausing for just a second. Swirling all around was the undercurrent of the Fade, ready to be shaped by those who knew how. Those unattached to the reality of things. Channeling this power to him, Solas shot himself upright and opened his eyes; tendrils of green magic rushed to his outstretched arms and turned him alight while the dream shifted itself to an indiscernible darkness. Scorched ground and a sky blackened by clouds of storm spewing rain and lightning stretched into an unending horizon of nothingness. As gusts of wind zigzagged furiously, knocking the mages down in their every attempt to stay steady, demons started to pour in, attracted by the display and the rising intensity of emotions. Then, the elf’s body turned blurry, almost amorphous, when Solas began his transformation.

“W-who a-are y-you?” asked a small voice, barely carried by the wind.

Solas smiled beneath his changing face. “Here, I am the Dread Wolf.”

The ground shook, as he turned into a great, black, monstrous wolf. The Wolf snarled, baring its vicious fangs. Unspeakable terror washed the human mages’ faces of blood, simple pale wretches without a place to cower from the six-eyed gaze of Fen’Harel.

The Wolf growled, joining the hisses of demons desperate to feed on the easy prey, but none dared intrude _He Who Hunts Alone_. They would wait for scraps, but little did they know that it never intended to leave any.

The monster lunged, snuffing out easily a flame cast in panic. Teeth crashed hard into bone and the mage’s scream echoed through the Beyond. The others scrambled frantically away as their fellow colleague was thrashed about, arm trapped in the bloody mouth.

With nowhere to flee, the mages could only fight.

Bolts of energy and ice sprayed across the air, unsure of their target, obscured by rain and darkness. The mage only pointed toward the screams he so desperately tried to block out, but then the lightning that crashed down from the sky traced the contour of the gruesome beast and he was able to aim true.

A spike of frost hit Fen’Harel on its side, snapping it from its rage-fueled tunnel vision just in time to duck from a jolt of electricity. Dodging spell after spell, the Wolf ignored the badly injured human — completely unable to fight despite his conscience remaining trapped into this nightmare — and sprang into a sprint. Four strides in it jumped, baring open its mouth, slick and red, snapping it shut as it landed on the throat of the ice-casting mage. Its teeth sunk deep into the tender flesh, and with a slight turn of its head, the beast tore off part of the human’s neck. He fell to the ground, gargling and spraying blood, until his heart and lungs stopped and his lifeless body lay wet and still on a pool of bloodied water.

Growling, Fen’Harel turned its 3 pairs of eyes to the mewling mage at its side, frozen in place by the gory display. As the Wolf neared him, painfully slow, a crimson trail fell from its blood-soaked fur only to be erased by the rain.

“I beg of you, please!”

If this were a normal dream, all of them would’ve woken up a long time ago, cold sweat and racing heart. But this was no ordinary nightmare, just like Wisdom’s summoning was no ordinary summoning — a call for advice in the safety of its domain. The Dread Wolf would make them all feel the confusion, fear, pain, and despair they had made its friend feel. A just punishment. So it ignored his begging. Fen’Harel bared its claws and swatted the human with all the strength it could muster, slashing open three gaps across the mage’s face that had turned far too unnaturally to the side.

Whimpers caught the attention of the Wolf’s ear, that tilted toward the first and now last mage. He reverted back to Solas’s natural form, body aching from the strain of battle and the blow he suffered, head searing from the strain of his magic. He dismissed the dark setting, and the Fade turned into to its usual drab green-ish self. The demons waiting for their turn encroached upon the dead bodies and hissed at the unuseful remains. The elf walked toward the shaking human, injured and paled, towering over the lying man.

“You deserved this fate the first time I met you,” Solas said coldly, each word punctuated by hate.

“Please… make it stop. End this nightmare, please.” The mage coughed.

 _As you wish,_ he thought. In an instant he would end his nightmare and his pain. He would never feel afraid again. He would never feel a thing at all.

With a snap of his fingers, he lit the man aflame with whatever magic was left in him. The fire burst fast, consuming skin and flesh and bone just in time before the screams could clench Solas’s heart in guilt and regret. The ashes piled on the ground, and the Fade fell silent.

Solas left the grisly scene, turning to whence he came.

Slow and quiet steps made their way back to Wisdom's domain. He was already near the cave’s entrance but still his heart beat uncontrollably fast and indiscernible thoughts ran madly through his mind. He figured that he would’ve calmed down, that the swirl of emotions would abate. And yet the rage demons still circled about.

“What?!” he shouted to disperse them. He had his revenge, his justice. Why was he still angry? Why couldn’t he, after all this energy spent, after that horrific carnage, find peace?

The clearing was still empty and lifeless, but his mind defiled it with the vivid recollection of the fight. It was as if the battlefield had simply moved places.

The elf’s eyes circled through the bodies, the burnt ashes, the blood spattered on the ground, and it reminded him of one of Andruil’s hunts. Was he that sort of monster?

If Wisdom were here, what would it think of this? What would it say?

In his rage nothing was gained, nothing was learned. Solas had reaped nothing but destruction, like the _Evanuris_ he once had fought and despised. His revenge did not bring Wisdom back, instead it tainted the memory of it. He had been so mad at himself, of the knowledge that was lost, at the people that had died from others’ mistakes, at everything that went wrong. He had been mad for so many ages that he forgot the feelings he harbored. His friend’s death had just been the tipping point and Solas focused all his attention on the wrong, insignificant people, with no purpose at all.

He’d done the humans wrong and he’d dishonored Wisdom’s memory.

Eyes closed, his mind drifted to the moment Neris grabbed his wrist. Did she know he would do this? Feel this way? Did she know him better than he knew himself?

Solas woke up in the darkness of night, the fire long extinguished. In a hurry, he packed everything back, just barely paying attention to the correct placement inside, and deactivated the wards he’d put around his camp.

He left his small clearing, trying to follow as best he could the general direction he’d taken during the dream. Only a few dreamers in all of History were able to gleam directions from their dreams, for the Fade is not a place that lends itself for navigation. But if one looks closely, there are landmarks dotting the landscape from where spirits had replicated a strong memory.

He passed by the fallen tree, tracing his fingers on the _“M + A”_ carving on its bark. Then by the pile of rocks that signaled an unmarked mass grave, the Veil thin and weary. And then by the waterfall that hid a broken flower vase behind the curtain of water. Solas circled around the area, looking for a place where the group of mages might’ve taken shelter. He cursed at himself; if he hadn’t killed them in the dream, he could’ve felt their magic to find them. Unfortunately all of them would have to suffer the consequence of his uncontrolled emotional actions.

The elf wandered in the darkness for what felt an hour, despair starting to creep into his chest, until the feeling of a thinned Veil caught his attention. Solas could sense the demons on the other side leaving, disinterested in a completely ordinary place on the rocky face of a hill. He spotted an entrance in the stone with a fresh trail of swept leaves. With magical fire conjured in his hand, he entered a cave, finding the mages immobile and awake inside.

“Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes,” one of them said, monotone.

“Do you remember me?”

“Yes,” another responded, emotionless, then added, “You are the Dread Wolf, as you called yourself in the Fade, but the Inquisitor Lavellan called you Solas.”

“Yes, you are correct.” Solas remembered in the dream they had called him and Neris just “elf.” How was that, stripped of their humanity, the humans could finally afford him some? “I am sorry for what I have done to you. I was wrong. No one deserves this fate.”

He took his skinning knife from its sheath at his belt and slid the blade against the Tranquil’s neck in a quick motion, watching him gurgle as his blood spilled from the cut. “May your soul find peace,” Solas said, and again and again as he repeated his mercy on the others.

After he placed them side by side, arms crossed and close-eyed, Solas left the cave and sealed its entrance.

He found the waterfall once again and began to trek alongside the stream back into the forest. The sky started to clear with the sun’s first light, and the dew that had settled during the night began to evaporate into the morning fog he liked so much.

For a while he just took in his surroundings, until his absent-minded walk was interrupted by the sight of his sketchbook, lying beside the river bank.

Solas picked it up. A few dents in its cover indicated that an animal tried and did not deem it a suitable dinner. His hand slid over its front, cleaning up the soot from the embossing on the leather. He remember Wisdom, and the encouragement it gave him to paint, to share his creations, his cause, his life.

The elf opened the book, its pages ruined by mud and water. He ripped a few off, and his hand fell upon the first page, wet but still usable. In it he could read in Neris’s handwriting, _“Solas, I’m so sorry for burning your sketchbook, I know how fond you are of drawing. Please accept this one as an apology. Use it to remember the things that inspire you. Your friend, Neris Lavellan.”_ He smiled genuinely for the first time since Wisdom died. Solas flicked the page to the next one still attached, and he was greeted by Neris’s face, drawn in charcoal, smiling back at him.

It was the moment he knew he was in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update next year! ;P
> 
> (JK! Hopefully...)

**Author's Note:**

> This took me longer than I expected to write, mostly because of the fight against Pride/Wisdom, and I haven't even written what I wanted which is in the next chapter. If any of you guys are fans of my fic "[The Breach](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3413210/chapters/7474094)", then stay tuned for it ;)
> 
> Edit: Sorry, major edits for better flow and continuity because that's what happens when you write in patches different points in the story in different days and your 2 am editing sucks.


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